


Sleeping sun

by dezemberzarin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: “Do you always allow strangers to burden you with the responsibility for their fates?”Thor’s laugh is entirely devoid of mirth. “If they have a point.”





	Sleeping sun

**Author's Note:**

> Endgame was...a movie.

Norelas is like any other trading post they’ve passed through in the past few months, massive, seedy and teeming with a constant flow of the sort of criminals and lowlifes Rocket is either quite happy to work with or shun depending on what they’ve chosen as their mission that week. Thor is entirely uncertain of the details this time, ready to leave his companions behind as soon as their ship is docked. They’ll find him if his presence is needed, like they always do.

There are worse ways to spend an evening than to blatantly cheat one’s way through what passes as the local dice game at one of the less savory watering holes. Thor should know. He’s tried them all in the last five years. The other players grow increasingly agitated, obviously becoming wise to the fact that whatever he’s doing can’t quite result in him winning each round if nothing but luck were at play. Yet none dare to challenge him outright, muttering among themselves as Thor sweeps another stack of credits onto his pile on the sticky table. 

By his estimate he’ll have another hour before their ire will incite them to overcome their suspiciousness of one another to unite against him. The calculating, blood-thirsty part of him that is never quite dormant these days idly hopes they’ll get the small audience gathered around their table involved as well. To make it at least a semblance of a fight. 

They’re well into another round when she first catches his eye. At first glance there’s no reason she should, just another body in the crowd of beings packed into the room, wearing the garb of one of the Ravager factions. Quill has explained the differences several times to him now, growing increasingly frustrated as Thor played at having difficulties remembering. With the wicked scar deforming her cheek and blaster strapped to her hip, she fits right in with the remainder of the locale’s patrons. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yet there’s something about her. Something in the way she holds herself, poised and entirely aware of her surroundings as she downs her drink with neat, methodical sips. 

The muttering that follows him as he concedes the next game has Thor reevaluating how much time would pass until the dissatisfaction resulted in an all-out brawl. Even in his peculiar impatience to make his way to the stranger, he takes a moment to mourn the wasted opportunity. 

She doesn’t acknowledge him when he takes up the space next to her, shouldering away another patron that gives him an outraged look, then quickly abandons any idea of protest as they take in his size. Thor doesn’t pay them any mind, gesturing for a drink even as he turns towards his neighbor, giving her the nod that serves as this sort of place’s universal neutral greeting.

Her gaze flicks towards him, a quick assessment, before she stares into her glass again, clearly unimpressed. The dismissal isn’t new. It’s not even the cruelest he’s encountered in the last few years. But his reaction to it is, the urge to prove himself worthy of her attention surprising him in its immediacy. He clears his throat, feeling a small jolt when her dark eyes meet his again. 

“I’m Thor.” 

She snorts. “Everyone in this entire sector knows who you are, Asgardian.” 

Thor tries a smile. “Then you have me at a disadvantage.” 

“I imagine most people do.” She pauses and for a moment Thor is certain that is going to be the end of it. Then she shakes her head, emptying her cup and placing it neatly back on the bar. “M’ceera.” 

Thor frowns as he tries to place the clicking consonants. “You’re from Ma’cay’a?”

Her expression hardens. “I was.” 

He knows he shouldn’t ask. Nothing good ever comes of asking.

“What happened?”

“What happened everywhere after Thanos,” she says coldly. “Our syndicate collapsed and we were left defenseless against raiders. Anyone they couldn’t sell they killed.” 

It’s not the first time he’s heard this story. The taste of bile in his throat is the same every time. He nods, drains his own drink until he thinks his voice will obey him.

“I’m truly sorry.” 

He waits for a scoff, perhaps even for a fist to collide with his jaw. That wouldn’t be the first time either. Instead she’s silent, although he can still feel her gaze resting on him. When she speaks again her voice has become contemplative. 

“Do you always allow strangers to burden you with the responsibility for their fates?” 

Thor’s laugh is entirely devoid of mirth. “If they have a point.” 

Her eyes narrow. “You should be more careful. Talk like that might lead people to believe they have legitimate grievances with you.” 

“I can handle myself.” 

Her eyebrow climbs, twisting the scar on her face even further. “Can you? Because I’m fairly certain whatever you just drank was laced with enough poison to fell a man twice your size.” 

Thor stares at her, then at the empty cup which still sits innocuously in his hand. He’s about to put off her words as a cruel jest when his vision starts to blur, the room swimming dangerously as he tries to blink through the disorienting rush of his blood. Fumbling for his communicator, his heart sinks as he remembers tossing it to Nebula as he left the ship.

She watches him curiously as he uses the bar to keep himself upright, trying not to let anyone possibly watching know how affected he already is. His tongue feels numb in his mouth, fumbling around the plea as he turns towards her.

“It’ll cost you,” she says before he can even try. 

“What,” he swallows around the saliva suddenly flooding his mouth, grimacing. He can feel whatever it is working away at him, steadily pulling him under. “What do you want?” 

“Your game’s winnings,” she says promptly. 

“Fine,” Thor manages, cursing himself for the fool he’s been. His head feels like it’s splitting in two. He staggers and the last thing he notes as the darkness rushes up around him is her small frame colliding with his, a surprising strength in the grasp of her hands on his shoulders. 

*

He wakes in bursts, reality forming around him in slip-sliding bits and pieces that make little sense before he gets dragged under again, a faint sense of relief of not having to face whatever is waiting for him accompanying each failed attempt. When he finally succeeds in keeping his eyes open his head rewards him with a pain so severe it feels like his skull has been burst into pieces, every shaking breath he takes carrying the sickly sweet smell of vomit. It occurs to him that this might be the first time he’s been entirely sober for years. The realization carries a sharp note of alarm when he tries to gauge how long he must have been incapacitated for to allow his system to purge itself completely. 

“Welcome back.” 

Turning his head unleashes another rolling wave of nausea and he grimaces at the rising bile as his eyes find his unlikely guardian. She’s in a chair across the room, watching him with an unreadable expression as he pushes himself into a slightly more upright position. 

Thor tries to speak, the dryness in his throat quickly overtaking him, leaving him coughing in painful fits that rattle his aching head. She watches him struggle for a few moments before producing a bottle from somewhere, its smooth glass expanse nearly hitting him in the chest as he gets his hands up just in time. Not stopping to consider what he’s just been given, Thor twists off the opening, emptying it in desperate swigs. It’s not water, but something better, something he doesn’t recognize but drinks down all the same, its silky coolness soothing his parched throat. Some of it runs into his beard as he keeps the bottle tipped with unsteady hands and he wipes it off once it’s empty, only hesitating for a second before licking the remaining moisture off of the back of his hand. 

His voice sounds shattered when he finds it, thunder-low and raspy with disuse. “How long?” 

“Three days.” She raises an eyebrow. “It’s almost impressive actually.” 

“My friends-“ 

“If they have noticed your disappearance, they’re doing a marvelous job of concealing that fact.” Something changes in her face as she says it, gone too quickly for Thor to decipher. 

He twitches a shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. “We haven’t traveled together for long.” 

In truth they’ve treated him far better than he deserves. Thor thinks he’d be quite fond of them, if his heart had not long given up on such matters. Glancing around, he takes stock of his surroundings. There’s very little to go on really. A bed, a few settees arranged around a low table, two doors off to the side. No windows. The tasteful furnishings give him pause and he gives the room’s single other occupant a glance. 

“Where are we?”

“Safe,” she says simply, evading the question entirely. “No one will come after you here.” 

“Seems fairly expensive for a ravager.” 

She flashes a smile at him that holds no humor. “I’m about to be fairly wealthy, am I not?” 

Thor holds her gaze, noting the tense line of her back. “I suppose you are.” 

She’s the first to look away. “Who do you think is after you?” 

“Whoever it is,” Thor says, leaning against the headboard. “I doubt they’re trying to harm me.” 

“They gave you something that had you drooling into the bedcovers for over seventy hours,” she says flatly. “What would you call that exactly?” 

“I think it was an fomepizoleic antidote,” Thor says slowly, watching her reaction. “Our healers on Asgard used them to counteract certain forms of poisoning. Unpleasant, but effective.” 

She snorts. “You think someone went through all this just to sober you up?” 

“Something like that,” Thor says, heart beating painfully in his chest. “Curious they knew just what to give me. It only works on Aesir.” 

“Must have gotten lucky.” 

Thor tips his head. “Must have.” 

Hope is insidious. It creeps through the cracks of heartrending despair and utter despondency. Shimmering in the distance, like the cool depth of a lake after a harrowing walk through the desert. And in your urgency to wade into its replenishing depth, you won’t even notice your feet getting sliced to ribbons by the bedrock of reality beneath. 

Thor can’t afford hope. Not anymore. 

And yet. 

“You gave this to me once before. The night after Fandral’s name day.”

There’s a long pause. 

“I’m not sure what you’re-“ 

“Brother,” Thor says softly, tongue curling strangely around the word. He didn’t think he’d have cause to ever use it again. “Enough.” 

For a long, terrible moment as she tilts her head in a perfect picture of puzzlement, Thor thinks he’s gotten it wrong. His chest yawns open with it, a chasm, promising no respite but the fall. 

Then the lines of her face sharpen, close-cropped hair growing into dark curls that seem to swallow the light, scar tissue giving way to unblemished pale skin. Ragged garments fade away to be replaced by rich leather, long fingers smoothing neatly over nonexistent folds. Dark eyes brighten to a brilliant green that blurs until Thor closes his own, his shaky breath entirely too loud in the silent room. 

When he opens them again, Loki is watching him silently. He looks well. The haunted expression Thor saw on his face too many times in their past few encounters is gone, leaving him nearly serene in the dim light. 

“Why?” The word carries all the desolation Thor would have kept to himself if he had the choice. 

He doesn’t think he imagines the shadow passing over his brother’s face. 

“I came as soon as I could.” 

Thor laughs, the frantic sound of it jarring even to his own ears. _You’re too late_ , is what he wants to say. _There’s nothing left of me._

“You told me,” he tries instead, has to stop before his voice gives out again. 

Those damned words. Haunting his every waking moment since they were spoken. Until he drowned them, ripped them out root and stem until he couldn’t feel a damn thing anymore, least of all hope. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive Loki for saying them in the first place. 

There’s a small line etched into his brother’s brow, regret not given voice to. Somehow it’s sufficient to make Thor realize, heart seizing painfully at the thought. 

“You’re not him.” 

“I would have been,” Loki says quietly. “Eventually.” 

Thor shakes his head, as if that might clear the unraveling maelstrom of his thoughts. “How did you-“ 

Loki’s wrist makes a sharp turn, a familiar gesture that nevertheless turns Thor’s stomach. The dread only intensifies when the room takes on a ghostly blue, the tesseract casting its eerie light through Loki’s fingers. 

“You _fool_.” 

Loki’s eyes narrow, the tesseract disappearing with another gesture. “I’m not the one who lost it.”

Thor’s brow furrows as he tries to make sense of the words. Loki gives him the answer before he can even begin to arrive at a question. 

“Your companions came to New York to retrieve the Space Stone.” His mouth twitches. “They failed. “ 

The twitch becomes a full grown smirk when Thor doesn’t answer. “They didn’t tell you.” 

“Stark is dead.” They hadn’t exactly talked about things afterwards. At least Thor hadn’t. 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Somehow the lack of sympathy in Loki’s voice is comforting instead of infuriating. He may be a few years shy of the history they shared, but this is still Loki. Still the brother Thor knows.

As to how – Thor can’t begin to wrap his mind around that. 

“The tesseract doesn’t bend time, it bends space,” he tries, knowing he’s unlikely to get an explanation just by asking. “If you escaped with it in New York, the time stream- 

“It’s a long story,” Loki says and something in his voice gives Thor pause. 

Loki never does anything without a reason. It took Thor a long time to see the truth of that, but now that he has, it’s inescapable. If he is here, if he’s crossed time and space to come, there has to be a reason. And suddenly Thor doesn’t want to hear it. Is certain the truth isn’t something he can bear. 

Loki’s eyes track him as he staggers to his feet, staying silent when Thor takes a few unsteady steps into the adjacent bathing chamber. By some semblance of mercy, he doesn’t follow. The décor in here matches the bedroom, polished stone where Thor has grown accustomed to the simplicity of steel. His companions weren’t much for unnecessary comforts. Unlike his brother. Laying his eyes on the raised tub at the center of the chamber makes Thor’s skin itch, suddenly extremely aware of his unkempt state. He’s dragging his shirt off before he’s even fully decided, fiddling with the console in the wall. A few tries and he finds the right code, the loud rush of water filling the room with steam. 

It’s been ages since he’s done this. On Midgard he’d climb down to the beach, walk into the sea and swim until the cold threatened to claim what little of his life remained. When he made it back to shore he would lay on his back and watch the sky above, the waves lapping at his numb skin and think of nothing at all. It was as close to peace as he ever came. Sliding into the water now has the opposite effect, tumbling loose memories he’d rather not revisit. The bathhouses on Asgard. Stretching yard after yard in the low glimmer of lit fires, long silken curtains billowing in the breeze between the pillars. His friends and comrades, passing around goblets of wine as they allowed the water to soothe the worst of their aches after spirited bouts on the training grounds. 

The water easily comes up to his shoulders and Thor lets himself slip deeper, like he might escape the dangerous path his mind has strayed upon. He doesn’t want to remember. 

It takes him too long to realize the keening noise he hears is his own sob, wrenching itself from his throat unbidden. Once he does his surprise is his undoing, keeping him from subduing himself in time. When he finally presses a white-knuckled fist against his gasping lips, Loki is already standing in the entranceway. 

Thor won’t look at him. Doesn’t think he can stand to live with whatever might reveal itself in his brother’s eyes if he did. To have him look upon Thor while he’s like this. Yet an attempt to curse at him to leave just results in another hitched breath and before Thor can think to try again, Loki is already climbing into the bath with him, boots and all. 

He easily evades the feeble attempt Thor makes to push him away, water lapping over the side of the tub as they struggle.

“Don’t,” Thor chokes, fingers curling into the dripping fabric of his brother’s tunic. Of course Loki ignores him, moves to slide into Thor’s lap like he hasn’t even spoken. He never _ever_ listens, not to a single word anyone says. Will get himself killed simply because he doesn’t know when to quit. 

“Why are you here?” Thor asks desperately. 

The tesseract and all of time and space at his feet. 

Loki tips his head, eyes solemn. “Where else would I go?” 

Something in Thor breaks apart at the words, something he thought buried too deep to ever touch him again. He drops his head until it rests against Loki’s collarbone, wraps his arms around his brother’s back and clutches him to his chest so greedily it has to border on painful. Loki lets him, doesn’t say a word even as the heaving breaths Thor can’t for the life of him push down grow into wretched gasps again. Allows him to pretend the dampness on his cheeks has its cause in the sodden state of his own clothes. His fingers comb easily through Thor’s hair, untangling it patiently like Thor used to do for him when Loki would still allow it. The sensation draws shudders down Thor’s spine, leaving him trembling in spite of the water’s warmth. 

It’s a long while until the realization sets in that Loki isn’t merely disentangling anymore, telltale tugs of plaits being woven into place pulling at the strands. The twisted, elaborate kind, by custom only afforded to the royal line. Thor can feel the corner of his mouth twitch with the approximation of a smile at the unspoken criticism. 

“Subtle,” he says into Loki’s collar, his brother’s chest rising beneath his cheek as he lets out a huff. 

“Yes, well. You’ll have to tell me later how abdicating our birth right to a near stranger made sense to you at the time.” 

Thor doesn’t question how Loki knows what happened on Midgard. His brother will either tell him or refuse altogether and nothing Thor can do will sway the outcome either way. Right now there’s little he wants but this, to keep his head buried right where he can breathe in his brother scent, oiled leathers and the caustic charge of seiðr. It makes him mutter in protest when Loki tips his head back with a gentle push of his hand. Paying him no mind, Loki begins to pluck at the unfamiliar length of Thor’s beard with wet fingers, a frown etched across his brow as he works. 

He flicks at Thor’s jaw when he notes the press of his lips. “Oh, do be quiet. I haven’t done this in ages.” 

Thor thinks about pointing out that he could easily use his seiðr, but thinks better of it. Like this, he can look his fill of Loki without his brother trying to look at him in return, gaze fixed where his fingers are at work. If there are differences, Thor can’t find them. Loki looks the same as he remembers, any deviation of their path together tucked away under the surface. No scars or healing wounds, none of the blemishes Thor accumulated over time. When he hesitantly peels back the high collar of Loki’s tunic, the curve of his neck is smooth and pale. Thor swallows against the heavy weight in his throat, carefully smoothing the fabric back into place with trembling fingers. 

“He snapped my neck?” If Loki has any feelings about that, his voice doesn’t betray them. 

Thor just nods, doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell the tale of what happened when the _Sanctuary_ came upon the _Statesman_. Loki doesn’t demand it of him, knows more than he cares to perhaps already. He finishes the plaits in Thor’s beard by conjuring two small beads to hold them in place, then pats Thor’s cheek as he rises, water streaming in rivulets from his clothes. 

“Come find me once you’re done here.” 

Thor watches him climb from the bath, unease uncoiling in his chest like a snake at the implication. He doesn’t know how to do this anymore. That longing part of him died along with Loki and Thor hasn’t had cause to miss it. Even before then, they hadn’t done this in years and years. Not since the night that should have culminated in his coronation and tilted their world on its axis instead. On the _Statesman_ they lost their chance, foolish enough to believe they had time when it had already run out for the both of them. 

“I don’t,” he begins, struck silent for a few agonizing heart beats when Loki turns to look at him once more. Thor shakes his head, can’t bring the words to cross his lips.

Loki appears like he might say something and then thinks better of it. Instead he starts to undo the fastenings of his leathers, revealing pale skin in the wake of his long fingers. Thor draws a shuddering breath when he sheds the first layer of drenched leather, dropping it to the floor where he stands. He holds Thor’s gaze as he starts in on his pants, eyes glinting in the dim light. Neither of them says anything, the only sound their increasingly harsh breathing in the quiet air between them. When Loki steps out of his boots, when the only thing that’s left are the familiar lines of everything Thor has ever wanted since he was old enough to want anything, the greed he thought forgotten is already welcoming him with grasping fingers.

Silently, betraying no diffidence in the face of his vulnerable state, Loki approaches again, sinks into a crouch until he can slip one hand into the water. Thor can’t swallow the noise he makes when his brother’s fingers move steadily up his thigh, find him hard and wanting as they curl around the heft of his cock. 

“I think you’ll do fine, brother,” Loki says, the languidness of the words offset by the flush setting into his cheeks. 

His grip tightens for a long, delicious moment and then he’s getting to his feet again, tossing Thor another look over his shoulder as he slips from the room. 

Norns. Thor grabs for the soap blindly, works up lather as he attempts to even out his too-rapid breathing. The insistent want throbbing low in his belly does nothing to dissuade the turmoil raging away at his heart. He might as well be a couple of centuries old again, tongue-tied and fumbling in his brother’s presence. They haven’t done this in so long and as he’s running his hands over his body, Thor is painfully aware he’s not what Loki remembers. 

The stone floor is a mess when he finally works up the courage to heave himself out of the bath, water and the garments Loki discarded earlier everywhere. Thor hastily grabs a robe out of a laid-out stack, grateful when it envelops him fully once he’s tied it. 

Loki sits up from his lounging position on the bed when Thor steps into the room, grasping for Thor as soon as he’s in reach. Faced with the stark beauty of his brother, Thor’s hand comes down upon Loki’s before he can halt himself, keeping him from tugging away the silken material of the robe. 

The puzzled tilt of head he receives is expected. Even the understanding dawning in his brother’s eyes. Loki always could read him far too well. What Thor didn’t count on was the silence stretching between them, Loki’s mouth pressed into a pinched curve as he regards Thor. Thor harshly wonders whether this is what his brother saw on Thor’s face when they would face each other in enmity. How Loki ever kept himself from killing him if it was. 

“I don’t need your pity, brother.” 

Loki’s hand seizes on his own, digging in painfully as he holds him still. “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

This is what tips the scales then, unleashes the fury Thor is just barely holding onto. A fury that knows no target, directed at himself and his brother alike. He wrests himself from Loki’s grip, ripping open the robe, the faint sound of tearing fabric splitting the air. Loki stares at him aghast, like he has no idea what drove Thor into this state and it’s fuel on a fire he doesn’t know how to quench. 

“Nothing?” His voice sounds frenzied even to his own ears but there is no way but forward now, nothing left but the truth. “No witty remark on this? You never made it through an hour of Volstagg’s company without a joke at his expense.” 

“Because it was _Volstagg_ ,” Loki says slowly, still looking baffled. “Thor, what is this?” 

Thor shakes his head, takes a step back as Loki rises from the bed, following him. This time his brother won’t be thwarted, reeling him in even as Thor resists, long fingers cool against his burning cheeks. 

“I’m not the same,” Thor whispers, a broken truth too shaming to be spoken aloud. 

“Neither am I,” Loki says and leans up to kiss him. 

It starts out chaste at first, like Loki means to leave it at a brief press of lips but changes his mind halfway through, mouth opening against Thor’s and growing slick and yearning. If Thor harbored any doubt towards the veracity of his brother’s claims they’re erased with every slide of Loki’s tongue against his own, gut-wrenching in its familiarity. They come together like they’ve shed a millennia, leaving them young and foolish again, layering kiss upon kiss until they’re flushed with it, drunk upon the sensation. Throughout it all, Loki can’t seem to keep his hands from Thor’s beard, fingertips tracing the plaits over and over, cradling his jaw in his palms. 

When they finally tumble back onto the bed, Loki wastes no time in pushing him onto his back, knees pressed into the sheets as he straddles him. There is no sight in the known universe that compares to this, his brother bare and craving in his arms, eyes dark with intent as he meets Thor’s gaze. Thor would lay waste to the fabric of reality itself at the mere promise of it. Loki trembles when Thor strokes his fingers beyond the grasp on his hips, trails them around and down where he finds his brother slick and wanting. Proof Loki wasn’t idle while he was still in the bath. The flush weight of his cock twitches as he eases his fingertips inside. 

They have no need for words now. Their movements are well-practiced, honed to brutal efficiency by several thousand repetitions. Keeping himself steady with one hand, Thor has the other remain on his brother’s hip as Loki sinks himself home, fingers curling into Thor’s chest. When he’s seated, Thor filling him to the brim and leaving both of them panting with it; Loki leans close, hips bucking when the movement brings his own cock flush with Thor’s belly, so much easier now. 

Thor steals the gasp right from his mouth, hands stroking encouragingly as Loki picks up a rhythm. He’d gladly spend eternity right here, forego the riches and comforts of Valhalla in exchange for his brother in his grasp, Thor’s name on his lips like a prayer. It draws a growl from Thor when Loki slows the grind of his hips, bends close to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips. 

“The more things change.” He rolls his hips forward lazily, tongue flicking out to taste Thor’s briefly. “Yet I’m still the one doing all the work.” 

It’s a cheap ploy. Exceedingly weak when measured against the intricate ways Loki usually tries to goad him. 

Unfortunately, it still works. 

Reversing their positions comes as easily as it always did, Loki’s noise of mirth giving way to a gasp when Thor settles on top of him. 

“Still so easy.” 

Thor raises an eyebrow, allows more of his weight to shift onto Loki, watching his brother’s eyes darken. “ _I’m_ easy?”

Dragging Loki’s thighs apart until he can settle them over his hips, Thor guides himself back into his brother’s slick heat, dipping inside with the very shallowest of thrusts. Loki tolerates it for mere seconds before he arches his back, mouth twisting when the movement doesn’t allow him to impale himself further with the way he’s trapped beneath Thor’s bulk. 

“Move,” he demands, the ire in his voice betrayed by the flush of his cheeks. 

Thor grins at him. Loki did always like being held down. He bends low to tease at his brother’s mouth with his teeth, drawing back before Loki can retaliate in kind. “Ask me nicely.” 

Loki opens his mouth, undoubtedly to curse at him and Thor pushes inside with one forceful thrust, drinking in the bitten off whimper he gets instead. He takes him like that, Loki on his back with his thighs pushed open by the press of his palms, unable to do anything but take what Thor sees fit to give him. When Thor finally spends himself, Loki is glassy-eyed and flushed, his own cock long soft between their bellies and slick with his own seed. 

Somehow Thor musters the will to ease himself out of his brother, arranging them until he’s on his back with Loki tucked against his side. With Loki’s sweaty heat beside him, Thor feels ready to drift away, the past few days’ toll demanding its dues. All that keeps him are Loki’s hands and mouth as he presses lazy kisses against Thor’s shoulder, fingertips tracing ceaselessly over the expanse of his belly. Always so much more affectionate in the immediate aftermath of Thor giving him what he wants. The constant path of his fingers rekindles an idea that’s been nagging at Thor and on another pass he traps one of Loki’s hands beneath his own, entangling their fingers.

“You like me like this.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” Loki says quickly. Too quickly. 

Thor can’t suppress the responding laughter that shakes them both, accepting the expected blow Loki aims at a spot on his shoulder he was kissing mere seconds ago. 

“You look like every unflattering depiction of our grandfather.” 

“Of course,” Thor replies soothingly, pressing a swift kiss to Loki’s mouth to keep it from spilling more lies between them. 

Eventually they’ll have to face reality again. Thor will need to know how Loki came here, for he’s not fool enough to believe his brother’s journey to be without purpose beyond this. 

For now though, there’s Loki’s mouth beneath his own. And Thor never required anything more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment.


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